In Behind Closed Doors, Beatrice is on loan to Interpol in Zurich. Four corporate executives are dead.

Yet the same DNA is present at each ‘suicide’. The case is crucial – Beatrice’s first since her extended convalescence. She has a fight on her hands. Tensions within the team, an aggressive counterpart and no proof to nail the prime suspect all cause her daily headaches. At least her own battle remains private.

Or so she thinks.

She’s being watched by someone who knows her weak points. When private becomes public, there’s no such thing as behind closed doors.

Bank Holiday weekend. Sunrise on a secluded Welsh beach and Beatrice Stubbs takes some innocent snaps. The scene contains more than just cliffs and seagulls, and someone wants those pictures destroyed. But Beatrice’s mind is on other things. 

Assigned to the London Transport Police, she’s pursuing the Finsbury Park Flasher, trying to pre-empt a serious sexual offence. While Beatrice is distracted, neighbour Adrian and companion Matthew decide to play Poirot, and investigate the mystery of the disappearing photographs. Amateur detectives and professional criminals are a dangerous mix.

From deserted Pembrokeshire beaches, through the shadowy underpasses of North London, to the remote Irish countryside, Beatrice discovers the darker side of human nature.

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